


Fathers (Anxiety)

by blindtaleteller



Series: Platovember Prompts 2020 [20]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Lokiverse - Freeform, Mixology (Lokiverse), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindtaleteller/pseuds/blindtaleteller
Summary: Jotunheim: Clint Barton (Cuyler) and his family are ready to attempt the move on to Vanaheim, after running from the destruction of their Missouri home at the hands of Nick Fury: and settling into the surprise of Loki saving them. Already beset on by some some of the wildlife, the Bartons, Loki (Flykra) and the stolen Tesseract and Chitauri sceptre have mostly stayed in their temporary home in the Red Peaks while Clint recovered from his own close encounter with a young frostworm and peaked owl on the hunt. Now they have to try and sneak past a jotun settlement.. among other things.
Relationships: platonic - Relationship
Series: Platovember Prompts 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999015
Kudos: 3
Collections: Loki, Platonic Relationships, Prompted Writing





	Fathers (Anxiety)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of a between scene for Door/Universe 14 I was saving and only kinda working on at the side specifically for this part (Anxiety) of the Platovember series. 
> 
> But yeah! Universe/Door 14's Cuyler (Clint) and Flyk (Loki) again, and maybe close to the last time in this series before the Book is put out?  
> We'll see?
> 
> I haven't a whole lot of platonic left developed with this lot, is part of why. The Four Kings universes are much more developed than Flyk's at the moment. Though and as my tablet comes in; that may change very quickly. My art tends to help with my inspiration? x3  
> Anyways, I may be slightly distracted for a bit with the new tablet over the next few days, but will be trying to get the last 10 shorts done for the series between that and my birthday tomorrow (Dec 10th) before Christmas hits.  
> Wish me luck, and enjoy!

  * IDENTIFY LOCATION: CUYLER - INTER-DIMENSIONAL IDENTIFICATION CONFIRMED : HVRA0616-9H-14
  * \---INTER-UNIVERSAL DOORWAY ENTRY POINT H14 : OBSERVATIONAL STATUS - TVA INTERFERENCE: _OBSERVATION ACTIVITY DETECTED_
  * \----JOTUNHEIM : MERIDIAN W-02 - VISITATION CAUTIONS _RECOMMENDED_ : THE RED PEAKS
  * \------KNOWN DOMESTIC TIME VARIANCE : 7:34 AM



##  **-=\\\FATHERS//=-**

The height of the path still made Clint nervous. On the plus side, they could hear most things coming if they listened, and kept their easy-marching pace. On the down side, made to imitate a frost giant's path through the summer snows; they couldn't see over it's packed-up walls. He'd seen the shallower ends of it more than the deeper ones when they'd gone hunting; mostly. But the trail dipped into the woods, and the five to six feet deep the white blanket settled at after the last couple days especially, before it was moved and piled, and packed to either side to make walls of snow a good head or two above even his and Loki's heads, and still shorter than your average jotun? Made the trip an anxious one.

Already, still outside the settlement where Loki had pegged it; they had needed to stop twice, hearing the frostworms burrowing through the snow. Letting them cross ahead and either killing the small, energetic ones --because yes and they actually got bigger than the large dog sized fuzzy monster that had taken a bite or two at Clint's leg-- and leaving the big one they did see alone while it was looking for a cooler place to sleep or dig out some smaller rodent or something else the size of his children. Which was why they were carrying the kids through the early portion. The worms had shit vision at night, but shittier vision during the day. They hunted by finding their prey through the vibrations and motions in the snow they burrowed through, listening and feeling for things that went through the banks.

Which was pretty likely the reason jotnar dug these kinds of paths around their settlements, when he thought about it. Loki had agreed that probably was a large part of it, when he mentioned it. That, and the owls that hunted the worms could probably lift a growing or even unsuspecting jotun if they were feeling particularly ballsy. Which.. was scarier for Clint, considering the size and mass involved. Especially with Laura and the kids with them. They agreed while the kids were snagging their water that the children shouldn't take the risk of walking on their own two feet either with that in mind, as small as they were comparatively. The gigantic owls were entirely nocturnal and didn't come out unless provoked, thankfully: but the worms were another story sometimes.

And then there were the jotun themselves; and the fact they were going to _have_ to skirt that settlement. Close. Stupid close, to get into and bare minimum halfway through the miles of weird labyrinth in ice-caves Loki called The Bloodied Face. Which, was worrying enough just in it's name, before he explained what the jotun hunted on the other side of the massive glimmering, snow dusted pockmarked peak of a cliffside yesterday when it had finally been clear enough to see that far into the canyon mouths past their very well tucked little cave in the Red Peaks. Apparently there were actually mountain trolls and something else over that side of things that made for well, what passed for good, thick skinned armor; when skinned.

Yeah. Actual _trolls._ Clint didn't really want to ask about that one. And really didn't like the answer either when it came, because even as short as it was? The near-enough grimace on Loki's too calm face as he'd given the very brief description was not encouraging to say the least. The place was.. more than pretty though. Surreal and gorgeous really, on top of being deadly dangerous.

There were moments between the trees, looking up at the deep rust and dark-blood colored needles of pines taller than the redwoods he and his brother had visited with the Carnival as a kid; drooped with snow, dripping in places with sap and ice that said yes, it was summer; the shine of light caught between like prisms when the sun became a light they could barely outline in the constant cloud cover and made rainbows of mostly red: that cut everything else out and sucked the anxiety away right along with his breath at the beauty of it. More so in the fewer moments he caught sight of Loki from his position at the rear; carrying Cooper in that weird piggyback-position sling he'd made for him with no complaints.

He looked like he belonged, in that setting. All fire and smooth chiseled lines and quiet careful movements barely affected by toting his oldest: though Clint knew if they came across a frost giant, they wouldn't make that assumption. Loki had warned him about that. Gone a little more into detail about things.. things that he tried really hard not to let too far into his own heart hearing them and failed at. Little details that slipped through with why besides reserving his magic for the hardest part of the trip. What Odin had done, and some of how.

The facts that stung at Barton most after everything that had brought them here, and after he'd learnt first hand how he was and where his pride really was; was that one set of sentences, so brief in how he'd found out. Seeing his own skin for the first time in his life. Never having seen his own face since, or giving the feeling he remotely wanted to.

Clint knew that feeling too well after Harold especially; and so yeah. Yeah.. what he left out, in saying what he did: it still stung a slipping feel at Clint's innards. And wanted to punch the Allfather, just and simply as a father himself.

_How do you look your son in the eye for one thousand, five hundred years worth of life; teach him to hate what he is well past adulthood through literal horror stories and bedtime stories where he's the monster, hide his own face from him, teach his 'brother' the same: and dare call yourself a real father to that person, after your bullshit's been sussed out?_

Because yeah, he knew that expression at the backs of his eyes when he said exactly that in far kinder words than he knew with that look the very brief rundown had required. Still felt what was behind it sometimes when he thought about his _own_ parents. And especially how his mom had died, why she had died. Getting Harold _fucking_ Barton off her sons, and off to the bar; where the _only_ people he could punch into a wall or a cupboard, or the kitchen tile were _his own_ size and likely to either put him in the drunk tank or were big enough punch him right back.

Except, he hadn't made it to the drunk tank. _Or_ home. Harold Barton made it into the side of a tree with his mom in the passenger seat, instead.

Clint had been little still himself. But the beatings made him grow up a little faster, took some of the innocence about the world he might've had otherwise with every single one; and every single berating word and slur out of Harold's mouth: so he knew. Clint understood enough even being small; to know how much more criminal his death was when he took Edith, Clint's mom: with him. Knew how robbed he felt. Knew the pieces of self blame and hurt, anger and hate. Knew the extra that came with hating himself more not just for not trying harder to stop her from going with him; but for the fact Harold could still pull that instant raw bundle up to the surface too: like he was worth it.

When, for everything he'd done, and all the things he hadn't pretending to wear the title father? He knew Harold Barton definitely wasn't worth it. Not the energy, not the hurt; not any of it. He didn't deserve, wasn't worthy of any of that. It took Clint years to get to understand that though. In some places, he still wasn't there, not completely.

So yeah. Clint knew that look. And he understood instantly putting those pieces and that dulled, harder expression together; _exactly_ why Loki didn't call him father, and got that look on his face every time he slipped and did anyway out of thousand year plus habit. It was fresh for him still too. A year? A little more? Compared to a millenium? Adult or not, Clint got that instant sliver in his jaw when Loki didn't remember not to call him by name. So he left it alone. At least for now. It was too early for that and he knew that too. The wounds were still stitching in places.

A whole lifetime, dozens and dozens of times longer than his own; spat on by the figure in his life meant to protect and nurture it. Clint couldn't look at his own son, and not be disgusted to the core with the smallest thought of ever doing that to any child. It actually pissed him off, more than a little. Enough that Laura had cornered him and asked him what was wrong, and; she'd picked up enough in his face when she had to just leave it when he said no and not yet: and given him the space to deal with seeing what he'd seen in that look and feeling the bridge between that pain and his turn that particular portion to diamond.

_Odin? Harold? Screw those guys._

That was pretty much the sum of what Clint thought and felt catching that look and having the few, very clearly toned down explanation piercing his ears. Couldn't help it if he'd tried.

Clint had wanted to carry Coop or Lila himself, and Loki had let him for the first mile. But Clint had to fold after that when his legs started hurting for it. His kids were still little; but they weren't little enough for him to carry for miles through built up and packed down snow paths on an alien planet where he might actually have to use his bow for something other than hunting if the need arose.

He knew they were close when that stone marker, and the fork came into view almost five miles in though; and that jumped him to attention, real quick. They had one more stop after that marker. One; before they were officially in range of the hunting village. Even then, they were close enough and it was bright enough? Careful had to be the _bare_ minimum.

His friend --because yeah, that was the least of what he was now-- gave him a look back as they took the turn, and Clint could almost feel his own riveted down anxiety through it. Not that Loki was easy to read. He was layered at subtler, quieter; gentler and more dignified in most of his expressions when he wasn't making a show of them. Serious mode on him was.. a fluid thing, and a little scary with how fast it hit. Like watching water freeze or boil in an instant instead of over a course of time. He went from quiet to silent. From somewhat relaxed and very attentive to the highest extreme on that bar, and noticeably so. From occasionally stilling Cooper's leg-swings at his side to just keeping them still there. The rest of them were still learning, to follow suit. And yes, that included Clint.

Barton was good in the wild; and better in the urban zones: but Loki had a thousand plus years of practice on him, and it showed. Honestly prickled him a bit too, applying that to the past since he'd met him. Once they hit the river they went off track along the rocks, into a frozen over alcove too small for jotun and too thick for worms to rest in. The fire was kept far back; small and smokeless as possible. Laura boiling out what water they were refilling when he was pulled aside for Lo to tell him he was going out to scout a little. See what was going on. Clint wanted to go; but watching the kids was paramount: and Loki wasn't gone long. Maybe forty five minutes; maybe an hour at most; before he was ducking back in dusting snow from his chest and shoulders to keep it from melting to just plain wet where it stood when he got in closer.

" Tell me something good..? " was his greeting as Loki settled into place next to him; and took the cup of what equated to hot tea as soon as it was offered: a bit of boiled water with a long skinny leaf that resembled bay, but made the water taste like lightly sugared cloves were in there instead.

" We were right to leave when we did. " was a good start as they watched the kids help their mother divide up the water and start chewing at the jerky they'd made for the road between sips on their own wooden cups. " The first parties are already out; the rest were getting about and preparing to go when I started back this way. " was even better news. It meant there would be fewer jotun in camp when they made their attempts at skirting it. " There will still be a few parents around; but mostly they'll be watching the children not old or skilled enough to participate in the hunt itself, from the looks of it. " Which, was pretty much what they'd been hoping for. That meant, at most; the camp watch and a few parents were hanging around; kids aside.

Still, it was dangerous. And the kids, they had it down but.. Clint had to mention their other option again; just once. " Last chance to backtrack, settle in and wait them out. "

The long pauses, Clint was getting used to too. Before, he'd been uptight, _expectant_ and tense enough to confuse that for being ignored. The lengths where he now saw Loki was considering it; weighing the chances and possibilities before he answered. " No. There's no guarantee all of them will leave. And even then, the fall when they will leave; will be much worse in other ways. The wildlife start fattening themselves; and hoarding food --of which we _definitely do_ qualify as-- for the winter. The trolls will start coming out of their banks and caves as the cloud cover becomes thicker as well. " all things he'd heard.

They'd managed this far, just a little over a week. But he couldn't argue with the one person among them who knew at least the land better. " There are a couple of pregnant women with them as well. If they come on their delivery close enough to the departure; they may very well lag behind just to deliver their young here instead of along the path. Which means their particular bands probably would as well. They'd batten down. No telling for how long. " Which, would leave them with the same numbers, but without the hunt to distract them even if they did have to leave while they were there.

The settlement wasn't the permanent type, as they'd confirmed day before last; though it sat on and half in the ruins of one that had been. Likely before the trolls had settled in, Loki had said. That kind of hunt was as dangerous as it was lucrative; which was why the young and too inexperienced stayed behind. Frost giants valued strength, he'd said: but even _they_ had lines they drew between brave, skilled, and _stupid life choices_. Clint had only seen one of them, at a great distance. But watching it just sort of reach over and axe-club a chihuahua-sized-to-them frostworm with a single hit for a kill, to behead it just for good measure with an equally effortless chop; and then tote it back into camp had been enough to convince Clint he didn't really want to test what little knowledge Loki had about his kind. At all.

" All in then. " signaled another sound he was getting to know in it's many tones all too well; the soft grunted hum on his way to the next sip of 'tea' that was an agreement. The sound was made the same, but the inflections said a great deal more. In this case, it was " **_Mm._** " meaning and holding behind it: _Yes, all in; here's hoping._

Little things like that still caught him up when he thought of home, in places. Reminded him not just of what the others might say if they were there, but how he might have responded himself a week ago. Clint had enough of a conscience he could wince at some of it. How wrong those misconceptions were. There were mean moments, when he wondered if Thor ever _really_ knew the guy he called his brother; or if he just told himself he did to make himself feel better about and reinforce those misconceptions; because Clint knew enough, now. Whatever had really happened back on Earth, was not at all what it had been made out to look like. Laura knew it too. Made a point to ask Clint, first. Something wasn't straight with the story Barton and the rest had been given. Not from Shield --no surprise there with Fury getting the chest-bop;-- and not from Thor either.

And they'd only been with Loki a week, plus.

The hand that rapped a thin pat to his shoulder as Loki stood up called Clint out of that internal inspection and caught his eyes; not really sure how long he'd been spacing out when Loki motioned a handful of nimble fingers at his still half full and half cooled cup before he nodded at the kids: who were just about done eating and starting to clean up. Almost time to go. " Do you want the middle this time..? " was a question Barton had posed himself at the start, with the reasoning his aim would be easier at either end from that position.

Thinking about it while he finished off his cup and tapped it out; Clint shook his head. " Nah. The more I think about it, the more I think we two hunters should be on the ends. If one chances coming up behind us; there's better odds of us noticing them before they notice us. " The little smirk. The small uncertainty tucked into Loki's blue-grey eyes Clint knew now came from his own trust issues; and they were pulling things up: getting ready. Making sure the tea was well and washed out of their cups and wiped off what of them it might have touched. No extra smells. No smoke or cooked meat. Cold gear --what they'd made of it from the weird wooly worm and rabbit hides-- tucked properly and not too tight.

And they were off.

And into the plan.

Keeping to the outer paths, away from the main camp; out of the untouched snow where their footsteps would leave new tracks too small to be jotun. Between half tumbled stones and hacked, formerly bound together lengths of crystal that had made up homes half buried in feet of older, crusted ice snows and dusting of the newer summer set not yet packed in over the last few days. The paths had already been tended. Which was a good thing.

Or, so they thought.

They were almost there. The towering cliff of ice and crystal of the Bloodied Face so large and full of small cave holes that seeped with mist it almost distracted Clint a couple times just looking up at it. Loki had explained, that the formation had thousands of years ago been wholly snow; and formerly a great frostworm's nest. The pockmark of caves had been formed well after their hatching, when they had emerged as adolescents. The smaller, lower down caverns were sometimes packed by fresh mothers in the fall and winter: and some never left

Clint was able to see what he'd meant by that too; the closer they got. Worms that hadn't made the dig out or whose exits had been blocked off by the fresher snow turning to solid ice they couldn't dig through: clarifying over time to keep them forever encased where they had died, like a strange, surreal, city skyscraper sized piece of red-shot clear amber. He was looking at one above their heads from below; when he literally bumped into Laura, and heard why they had stopped ahead: reminded why he _hated_ the high walls of the packed jotun paths as _much_ as he was grateful for them, _instantly_.

All there was, was the sound, and the view of the intersection beneath the pine and between the stones ahead. The shucking scrape and _whump_ of something thick being hit. Shuck-shuck _whump_. More; and _again_. No true rhythm but moving their way. The downside about this scenario they had picked apart again and again; there was no where to go without definitely alerting the rest. The paths were taller than either of them, and wide: and their last turn was almost fifty feet back. Clint drew his bow realizing it was getting closer; and Loki had a blade in his hand already.

Clint was drawing and Loki moving forward against the wall with a hand held back briefly but long enough for them to know to stay there. Listening longer and looking at the snow Clint realized why: the path they were on was cleared straight ahead: but the one that crossed it wasn't yet. That's what the sound was; the snow being scraped from the ground and packed out of and along the path; and there was only one of them. He was going to try and handle it. Try, because it had been discussed: if he couldn't, a fast stab and run was their best bet. They were close enough.. so close. Loki motioned them against the wall and closer; and he and Laura knew immediately that was exactly what he was thinking when he motioned Cooper back to Clint.

Bow and arrows away, in exchange for carrying his eldest on much longer legs.

The silence in the moments before was strung tighter than his bowstring anyway; pierced only by the growing shuffle of feet, shuck of what Clint really hoped was a shovel keeping it's hands busy: and the whump of the snow being packed with a hard hit into the tall snow-walls of the wide path. A humming followed that didn't help.

A song mumbled through a nose much higher up than it should have been in Clint's head after years of hunting other men. The low rumble and heavy beat that started to form a rhythm with the motions.

Then the shadow the brushing splash of too new fluff and bits of disturbed hardened dirt from between the stones that ran beneath their feet; and everything just.. snapped!

Loki was around the corner, Clint and Laura booking it for the other side and straight back as his ears burned to listening to the clash and clatter of what was probably the shovel: too heavy and tottering to be one of Loki's blades.

The grunt and start of a call cut short with a sound too slapping to be a cut; and god but that opening was smaller than he himself had judged and felt an age away rather than the mere forty feet it was. Clint couldn't help but look back when he heard Loki following; and nearly stop frozen when he saw not two including Loki but three. The bigger one, and that wasn't done any justice either.. so much bigger than Clint had expected; managed to grab his shovel from the fall coughing and swipe Loki's feet from under him with the extra reach. " _..fuck._ " and without even needing to think about it he set his kid down at a sliding stop. " Cooper, run to your mother, now. "

" _Vader..!_ " from the smaller one half tucked under the pine still had Clint whipping his weapon back into place, though it was hardly needed. " Hvedrungr, _fer!_ " All the bigger one got out of his mouth.

Loki wasn't out of it, had the blade; _spun?_ Got the big one in the back of his head with the hilt of it before he was even up; and the smaller one at the other end .. of it; but again not making for the cut; darting back and growling something as he stepped and then started the jolt back after an exchange .. and Clint became aware of the larger one staring past him as he started up a second or two later.

The only thing past him, was his wife and kids.

The string came back to position, real fast.

And got yanked farther as Loki got to and started to pass him. No slowing down. " ..go now; before he changes his mind! " a hiss that told him even more than what he was letting seep in almost thirty feet away _really_ sink in. The big one had a wooden leg?

And as he started to backpedal, and the big bearded blue guy struggled to get back to his balance? The difference in sizes between him and the smaller one that jolted angrily forward to help him hit too. Half his size, a little bigger. A little taller than Loki, much more gangly for his build under the jacket.

_..a kid. The smaller one's **a kid**.. maybe, maybe Cooper's age?_

Loki didn't give him time to process it fully before he was half drug under and into the glassy ice of the Bloodied Face. Laura asked before he could; peering out at them from just out of what might have been their reach without the shovel, meeting that red eyed stare. " Lo, what did you _say?_ What does Vader, _mean..?_ " They didn't come after them. Loki dared a look back, a solid one that went with a sharp fast nod at the giant: one that broke their staring contest. They still didn't come. They didn't call out either.

Loki started pushing them deeper regardless, watching; the motion urging Clint to help him and pick up Lila when he answered along the way. " It means, father. " put a quiet through Clint with the confirmation. " I told him the truth. That I was the one he named his son for. Hvedrungr. " blew whatever other thoughts Clint might have had away. " And would rather my small family pass quietly without the view my killing my namesake's honored blood on the paths as exchange. "

There weren't any more words for while, from there. But Clint did duck, did look back; before they were out of sight.

He couldn't hear them in the first second. He saw before that. The shuck and whump of the shovel again; before the father's song started it's deep strumming hum.

And Barton thought when he turned, that turning back to the thoughts he'd let slip between: that he understood one more time.

Reminded, and proven: the anxieties and the love of a _real_ father wasn't something that ended or started with blood or a line drawn between cultures.

He could still hear him singing to his son, that hum: when they were much deeper in.

And tried to commit that to memory too.


End file.
